


the Big Short

by SaydriaWolfe



Series: tBS Stuff [1]
Category: Criminal Minds, Hannibal (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Inception (2010), Marvel Cinematic Universe, NCIS, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, F/M, GFY, M/M, No Beta, Other, Prompt Fill, Shorts, Warnings in chapters, always-a-boy JJ, always-a-girl Will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-10-02 04:20:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 18,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10209497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaydriaWolfe/pseuds/SaydriaWolfe
Summary: The Big Short is a writing challenge hosted on the Workshop forum on Rough Trade. There are two types: Variations on a Theme (500-1k words) and Variation on a Character (1k-2k words). If you are a member of Rough Trade you can check out the Workshop and see all kinds of cool stuff including the prompt stuff. These are my responses.





	1. Prompt: Fury, Fandom: Stargate Atlantis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [etched_radius (suiqune)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suiqune/gifts).



**Title** : Mine   
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe   
**Fandom** : SG:A   
**Prompt** : Fury   
**Genre** : Slash, McShep   
**Word Count** : 579   
**Warning** : No beta   
**Summary** : Elizabeth fucked up and there are consequences.

 

“What did you do?” Elizabeth hisses furiously in his face.

McKay just blinks at her, trying to remember the rules of polite society that John has tried valiantly to pound into his head. “What do you mean, Elizabeth?”

“We had our talk,” She spits. “And suddenly my Expedition is in the hands of- of- a Navy Admiral?!? With an FBI Agent as his second?”

“I’m sure he’s very qualified. Both of them, really-”

“You did this. I don’t know what you did but you did this. And you!”

Okay, seriously, that’s enough. He’s been polite so John can’t even get mad at him now, right? “No, you did this.” He corrects her. “You spent a half hour yesterday telling me in great detail how I was going to distance myself from John Sheppard or you would leave me -a mission essential member of the Expedition- behind on Earth because you want to fuck my husband. It just so happens that right after our little talk, I had a meeting with General O’Neill and when he asked me if I thought I could trust you, I told him no.” When her jaw drops and her face pales dramatically, he gives her the most unimpressed face he can manage. “It’s true and you’ve proven it three times in the last two days alone.

“I might have also pointed out that as a school teacher and a solo-act negotiator you don’t have the necessary experience to be senior administrator of such a large, high pressure Expedition.”

“I was the one that pointed out we were likely to meet a hostile force and the Expedition should be militarized.” John says from where he’s leaning in the doorway behind Elizabeth.

He’s pretty sure eavesdropping and butting into other people’s conversations are no-nos on the list John gave him so McKay just raises a disbelieving eyebrow. John raises an eyebrow right back and saunters into the room, ignoring Elizabeth completely.

“She wants to sleep with me?”

Rodney nods, helpless not to. He’s never been able to lie to his husband, not even before they started dating.

John looks at the woman. Gives her a quick, dismissive once over and shakes his head, “Not even with a rubber dick, lady.”

Elizabeth sputters but John ignores her artfully and offers Rodney his hand. “Come on, Mer. Hotch and the Admiral want to take us to lunch and, I believe, security is on it’s way to escort Dr. Weir to her exit interview.”

“Cool,” Rodney agrees, gamely taking his husband’s hand. “Is the General going? Because if not we can hit O’Malley’s. You have not had a steak until you’ve had one from O’Malley’s.”

John laughs. It’s heartbreakingly beautiful and for half a heartbeat Rodney feels bad for Elizabeth to have missed this. Okay, maybe a quarter of a heartbeat. “Why can’t the General go to O’Malley’s?”

“It’s a long story, involving lying Tok’ra who lies and malfunctioning alien equipment but SG-1 is banned for life. Ask Jackson if you want the actual true story.”

John just nods and leads Rodney to the door, he knows his husband well enough to see that his soldier is getting him out of the line of fire and he tilts his head at the other man curiously.

“Oh, and Dr. Weir. In a few hours when you’re wondering what went wrong and thinking about doing something stupid, remember Dr. Rodney Mckay-Sheppard is mine and, yes, we are some of _those_ Sheppards.”


	2. Prompt: Wet, Fandom: Inception

**Title** : Stress Relief   
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe   
**Fandom** : Inception   
**Characters** : Arthur/Eames   
**Prompt** : Wet   
**Word Count** : 712   
**Warning** : No beta, sexytimes   
**Summary:** Arthur and Eames have a bit of fun in a soaking city.

 

Eames does his best not to glare out at the rain soaked not-actually Los Angeles.

A week in the rain because Yusuf failed to take a piss. Isn’t it wonderful?

A week constantly wearing a forge because while they finished the job in less than a day in Level One time, he’s constantly on the clock, babysitting Fischer. Making sure the arse doesn’t lose the plot or suddenly change his mind while he dreams over his future plans. Over and over and over again.

‘ _Here we go again,_ ’ He thinks with as much humor as he can manage when a knock sounds at the door. He pushes away from his view with a glance at the mirror, double checking his game face.

He opens the door and almost laughs outright.

It’s not Fischer like he expected. It’s a man, shorter and younger than Fischer, wearing a bright red jacket and matching ball cap. He’s holding a pair of pizza boxes and smacking bubblegum with a smile. It’s just so ridiculous. How would a pizza boy get so far up into an ultra-exclusive business high rise like this? Eames checks the reflection on the shiny metal door he’s holding open and Arthur smirks back at him, winking cheekily.

He grabs Arthur by the arm and pulls him in. “What are you doing here?”

Arthur drops his half ass little forge and blinks up at him, completely unimpressed, before calmly reaching behind him and locking the office door. “I thought you could use some stress relief.”

“You were bored.” Eames accuses his sometimes lover.

Arthur shrugs and moves further into the room, already removing the tie portion of his actual attire. He doesn’t deny the accusation which in Arthur speak is the same as confirmation.

“My what a big desk you have,” Arthur asks, with a coquettish glance over one shoulder.

“Am I supposed to say ‘the better to fuck you on’?”

“You could say it, or you could just do it. Drop the forge.”

Completely uninclined to argue, Eames does but he takes it a bit further. Rather than the suit Yusuf put him in or the paisley thing from Arthur’s interpretation of him, he does full classic black suit with black tie. Just enough stubble to mark Arthur properly and keep things interesting.

Arthur bites his bottom lip but he doesn’t say anything. They’ve played this game several times and it’s Eames’s turn to make a demand.

“Hands on the windows.”

Arthur nods once and he too takes it one further, striping to the waist as he goes.

Eames swallows hard as Arthur gets into position, arching his back _just so_ so that his ass is properly presented.

“Pull your cock out but keep your clothes on.”

Again, in the spirit of going one further, he loosens his tie and a few buttons because choking is not his thing and this? This is going to be.. Enthusiastic.

Eames runs his hands over Arthur’s shoulders, down his back, and cups his hips. He leans in, spooning close so that Arthur can feel the bulk of him, so that they can appreciate the heat and weight of each other. Then he slides his hands down, ghosting along Arthur’s belt to his flies. He undoes everything, leaving Arthur bared and basically hobbled by his own clothing wrapped around his ankles.

Only then does he pull his cock out. He rubs it under Arthur’s ass, down between his legs and teasing his balls as his fingers explore his cleft.

Arthur is plugged and lubed because of course he is. It’s a cute little plug, though. With a bright, shiny silver knob engraved with the initials of the name Eames was born to. He rolls his eyes as he pulls it out.

Arthur’s smirking at him in the reflection in the window.

He smacks the thigh under his right hand giving his lover a mean little smirk of how own as he prepares himself. The last demand in their little game is his and it’s a demand Arthur _needs._ It’s too bad really but it’s going to be a long, hard ride for his lover before he gets it.

Not that he knows that yet, Eames thinks meanly as he pushes himself inside.

(Arthur definitely already knows.)


	3. Prompt: Revenge, Fandom: Harry Potter

**Title** : Best Served   
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe   
**Fandom** : Harry Potter   
**Characters** : Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter   
**Prompt** : Revenge   
**Word Count** : 1000 on the nose!   
**Warning** : No beta, discussion of love potions   
**Summary:** Neville seeks some clarity and gets rewarded.

 

Neville doesn't quite get Hermione Granger.

No, that’s not right. He gets her as much as anyone with only periodic flashes of her time and attention can.

He doesn’t get her friendships.

Not with Harry, of course. _Everyone_ gets her friendship with Harry though Neville knows, now, that the two of them view Harry differently than others.

Other people see his fame, his arrogance, and possibly his money.

Neville and Hermione see the kind boy neck-deep in bad circumstances. His quiet isn’t arrogance. It’s fear. Or a need for privacy. And the money? Well, the Potters _were_ a merchant family better off than most noble families. They _were_ the inventors of several things modern magicals take for granted but a single look at Harry -at that _hair_ \- is enough to know he has no access to his legacy or his inheritance.

Not the point. Friendships. _Ron_ , the Rude, Opinionated Numpty

And Hermione’s sudden developing of _feelings_ for Ron? At the same time Harry _just happens_ to develop feelings for Ginny? When everyone had Harry and Hermione’s future marriage basically pegged since the Troll first year?

No. Something’s not right here. He wouldn’t be able to consider himself their friend if he didn’t speak up but _how?_

Neville turns to his usual source of guidance when uncertain. His Gran.

A few letters later and he’s inviting Harry over for Christmas because his Gran was James Potter’s Auror trainer once upon a time and she still has some of his stuff. He invites Hermione because Harry’s going.

Sirius, too, because while they aren’t Blacks directly they are Black enough to know something’s going on there and that Harry bleeding Potter is in the middle of it.

Not Ron because, oh, tough break, his mum won’t let him come.

They hadn’t believed him, or Gran, or Uncle Algie when they told them their suspicions. They hadn’t believed the first healer or the second. Or even the third they let Hermione pick and portkeyed in from America.

They had taken the flushing draughts prescribed, though, since if all these sources were wrong the draughts simply wouldn't do anything.

They’d had a good time of the brewing the draughts themselves while Sirius regaled them with stories of James’s potions brilliance.

Then they’d taken the potions and suffered their way through the cleansing.

Then the rage and the fury and betrayal set it, followed by the most stonecold planning session Neville had ever witnessed much less taken part in.

The result? The first Black Family Christmas Party is almost two decades.

Held at Longbottom Keep, of course.

The Malfoys came through first, icily beautiful and completely furious.

The Weasleys next, confused but unable to deny the call of the blood they received from grandparents on both sides.

The Bulstrodes, the Crabbes, the Rosiers, the Lestranges, the Yaxleys. The MacMillans, the Hitchens, the Tonkses

Lord Prewett all on his own. Alphard Black, also alone.

They all eye each other, frustrated by the Family Magic-enforced peace that keeps them from even speaking rudely to one another, which the majority of the Dark families’ social jockeying consists of.

He and his Gran are host, of course. And Gran is always a gracious host even when she’d rather set her visitor on fire. Considering what they know is coming, it’s not even a lie to say “Glad you could make it!” or “It’s so nice to see _you_!”

Even to the Lestranges, though confused is not a good look on Bellatrix. _At all._

Finally, just before the clock strikes eight and a flourish of trumpets sound.

Sirius Black walks out onto the landing above his guests. He looks stately and refined, every inch of the noble lord he really, truly is.

A gasp flutters through the crowd and Bellatrix looks like she’s swallowed a live goldfish.

“My family.” The falsely-imprisoned lord greets, spreading his arms wide. “It has come to my attention that we have been divided for too long. We have squabbled over petty things and lessened our power when we should be coming together for the good of magical life everywhere. To correct this, I have accepted the gifts of my fathers and brought us all together. For safety. For strength. For unity.

“Family Black, hear your Lord’s commands. The Lord and the Heir of House Black are sacred to you, from this day until your last day. We are first in any and all choices you make for the rest of your lives. Our Will will be done.”

Sirius pauses and all these good, highborn twits answer, “Your will be done.”

The Marauder smirks. “The concept of blood purity is foolish and hereby anathema to the House of Black.”

The Death Eater contingent stirs but they don’t speak. Can’t complain.

“The use of love potions is foolish and hereby anathema to the House of Black.”

Molly Weasley turns as red as her hair but, again, can’t complain.

“Non-consensual wedding contracts are foolish and hereby anathema. Divorce, however, is not foolish and I will personally free anyone subject to a marriage they do not wish to continue.”

The only woman that _doesn’t_ glance around at that is Narcissa Malfoy, which is ...interesting.

“Now, it’s time for you all to meet my Heir.”

Draco Malfoy puffs up and starts to saunter forward but Sirius holds up a hand. The Lord Black shakes his head, a not-quite mean smile quirking his lips.

Sirius turns, gestures for the doors behind him to open, and they do. Revealing Harry and Hermione, standing arm in arm, dressed to the nines and displaying great dignity as they make the walk they have practiced over and over into Sirius’s immediate regard.

“My Heirs by Choice and by Life Debt, Harry and Hermione Potter-Black.”

Sirius pauses to let that sink in, reveling in the horror _all_ of the Death Eaters can’t hide.

“Oh and I forgot!” Which he didn’t, the liar. “Of course, I need to introduce you to _their_ spouse! Neville Longbottom-Potter.”

Molly Weasley faints.


	4. Prompt: Fury, Fandom: NCIS

**Title** : Awakening  
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe  
**Fandom** : NCIS  
**Characters** : Gibbs, Tony DiNozzo, OCs  
**Prompt** : Fury  
**Tags:** Sentinels and Guides are known, inspired by Jilly James’s Imperfect  
**Word Count** : 566  
**Warning** : No beta   
**Summary** : Tony comes online in a fury.

 

"My team, my rules." Gibbs answers him flatly, sitting back with his coffee and taking a nonchalant sip.

"The sister, the _handler_ , of Kate's murderer is sitting at her desk."

"My team, my rules." The Bastard repeats. He's completely stone faced and calm. Kate’s been dead all of a week and Gibbs doesn't even _care_.

Fury flash-fires over Tony's brain causing something in him to snap and suddenly he doesn't care either. "She profiled the team. You, me, Tim. Even Abby and Ducky. She _picked_ Kate to die. She accounted for Ari’s crazy, for your guilt, for Shepard’s debt, and she picked Kate as the sacrifice. As _her_ sacrifice to get her a place on this team."

Gibbs shakes his head. "You don't know that. You don't know anything about her sacrifices."

"What, killing her brother?"

"How do know that," a startled voice says from beside them.

Tony looks up to see Ziva in her full Commando Barbie get up with Tim hovering like an eager little puppy in her shadow.

"I can work out the trajectory of a gunshot, _Zivah_." Tony growls directly at the source of his ire.

And, you know what? Fuck it. He's _done_ here so he might as well make himself perfectly clear.

Tony marches over to Daddy’s Little Spy and gets right in her face. "You have no secrets from me. You are a threat to this team, to this agency, and to this country, and I will do whatever I have to to make that threat disappear so rethink what you're doing here. What do you actually want? Freedom from Daddy or to be Daddy’s perfect little tool? Are you going to let him keep using you until he breaks you, too?"

Tony feels her fury spike and sees the wind up but the punch never lands. There’s a sense of movement. He’s pretty sure arms close around her middle and Ziva is bodily thrown away from him. Tony blinks, recognizing Balboa's broad back as the sentinel hunkers into place between Tony and the Mossad poster girl.

Tim is on the ground bleeding from his head, held in place by the boot of a second sentinel, and there's a third holding Gibbs at gunpoint behind his desk.

"Tony, are you back with us?" It's Julianne, the only bonded guide currently assigned to Pumpkin Spice Headquarters.

"Julie?" He eventually manages to croak and a warm hand slips into his and he feels the... the blanket surrounding him, muffling and protecting his mind redouble.

"You okay?" She moves into him, cuddling into his chest. He can feel the heat of her sentinel Paula behind him. Paula's furious too but not at Tony, not over the contact. Tony can't quite decipher- "Hey, Tony, come back. I need you to stay with me. You don't need to figure anything out. The Pride is here. We got you."

"Pride?"

"Yeah, Tony, the Pride. Your Pride. You just hit a super negative emotional plateau and came online. You’re ours now. Let us take care of you."

But he was doing. Something. It was-

He puts his head on Julianne's shoulder and Paula presses into his back, bringing her arms up and physically sheltering them both.

"That's it, Tony, relax." The guide scratches a comforting hand into the scruff of his neck. "Let's get you to the Center. The Pride will finish this, don't you worry."


	5. Prompt: Original Male Character, Fandom: Harry Potter

**Title** : Fate  
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe  
**Fandom** : Harry Potter  
**Characters** : Harry and the Prewitts  
**Prompt** : OMC  
**Word Count** : 1678  
**Casting:**  I would cast Jason as Tom Hiddleston  
**Warning** : No beta, this one might come down because I reserve the right to expand it  
**Summary** : What people with actual good intentions look like.

 

 

"What are you doing here, kid?"

The boy turns to face him faster than Puddlemere's keeper at the last World Cup. His bright green eyes flick over Jason, first startled and curious, then wary and cautious. "I need to speak to Tom at the Leaky Cauldron."

_Ah._ "You got a letter?"

The kid pulls a letter out of the pocket of his oversized shirt and Jason has to ruthlessly suppress his surprise, not only at the name but the address because ‘ _Cupboard Under the Stairs’?_ Really?

"Where are your parents?"

"Dead. Car crash."

_Uh, no._ Jason swallows hard to contain the words. "So, who's taking care of you?"

"My aunt and uncle."

"And where are they?"

The boy shoots him a boggled look before nearly shouting "At home!" in a completely scandalized tone.

"The Cauldron's right there."

The boy looks in the direction Jason pointed and frowns. He frowns harder and harder until there was a little _pop_ and the boy’s eyes suddenly light up. The boy grins up at him gratefully and turns for the door but Jason _has_ to stop him.

"You don't need to talk to Tom." The boy glances up at him again, assessing. He seems to look so far into Jason's soul that he’s grateful to be telling the truth when he continues. "Tom will just send to the Bank for a muggleborn liaison. That's one of my duties for the bank, so we can just skip a step."

After a long pause the boy - _Potter_ \- nods and turns once again to Jason.

"Okay, first things first. As I'm sure you are aware, people will judge you a lot based on your appearance, so let's clean ourselves up." Jason pulls his wand, waves it over himself, and his _very_ nice bespoke muggle suit wordlessly transforms into a similar looking set of formal business robes.

"Whoa!" the boy grins, enthused, his eyes once again alight with curiosity and good cheer.

"May I do you?"

"Yes, please!" The Potter throws his arms out and head back giving Jason as much access as he might need for the simple task.

Jason waves his wand more working on Potter than he did at himself.

Not just for the more elaborate change from scruffy, outsized muggle clothes to a black, silver, and green set up more fitting for the young man's status but also to examine the young man.

Specifically his glasses.

It’s strange to see a magical wearing glasses out of necessity. Most magicals wear them as a tool of some kind or perhaps a fashion quirk but not need. Never need. And this particular pair has a great deal of magic radiating from them for a purely muggle item.

Jason does his best not to frown down at his new young charge.

The glasses were made with alchemy for magical suppression and shaping. They've also been engraved with runic spells. Status and location spells obviously for whomever the boy’s magical guardian could be, but also a curious combination of outwardly aimed behavioral spells, wards to keep the young boy away from magical things -which would be why he couldn't find the Cauldron itself even after making it to the right street- and, well, other things Jason simply can't identify. Curses, clearly, but he’s no cursebreaker.

Rather than cancel the spells which would surely bring the boy's manipulator running, Jason adds a time delay that should buy them the time they need to make it to the bank before the Manipulator can stop them.

He also takes a moment to throw a mild notice-me-not charm on the incredibly famous, infinitely recognizable boy.

"There are things you need to be prepared for," He tells the boy as they begin the winding walk from the Cauldron to the bank. "It should probably go without saying that not everything is as it seems in the magical world."

The boy nods his agreement.

"Some things that look terrifying and brutish can be the kindest beings you'll ever meet. And great beauty can hide great cruelty. Not everything as smart or smarter than humans _looks_ human. Goblins, merfolk. Centaurs, dragons, giants. There are animals -regular animals like owls and snakes- fully as smart as people. So be respectful, always.

"Additionally, as in the muggle world, some humans think we are better than other sentient beings. They are wrong. It's your choice, of course, but if you chose to emulate those people you'll never discuss the stars with a centaur or play chess with a goblin and those are some of the most magical and enlightening experiences I've ever had in my life."

The boy pauses, physically pauses to contemplate this, obviously unsure why this would be the first thing Jason would mention to a new acquaintance but eventually nods and allows them to continue forward.

"Gringotts, the bank of the wizarding world, is run by goblins. They employ humans, like myself, in a number of ways. Mostly we just do to the things they don't want to or because we use magic differently than they do and they see the advantage of that. They also use werewolves and vampires for this same reason but do not be afraid." Jason shoots the boy a dry look. "Endangering customers is bad for business so customer safety within the bank is assured."

The boy snickers, as Jason intended, and stops again. Together they look up at the gleaming white marble of the bank, the goblin guards in gleaming armor, and the great golden doors.

Taking advantage of the boy's awe, Jason pulls out his communication mirror and taps his father's emergency code.

"Jason?" The Lord Prewitt answers with a frown.

"Are you still with Grimlock?"

His father nods.

"I'm bringing in a VIP. Be prepared for extreme measures."

"We are prepared." Grimlock the Prewitt account manager intones in the grave manner that earned him his name.

Jason ends the call and looks down at his young charge who seems to be trying to figure something out about the building's architecture. "Ready?" he asks and the boy nods.

As soon as they cross the threshold of the bank Jason can feel the modification charms fall of the boy, both his own and the ones the Manipulator set. He gets a flash of fury from the Manipulator through his modifications to the man's spells but Potter doesn't seem to notice so he decides not to say anything.

Quickly, he leads them through the lobby to Grimlock's office. Grimlock takes one look at the boy and he throws up every single ward and locking spell possible on a private goblin office within the bank.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," the goblin starts.

Potter -Harry- chokes. "You know me?"

Jason shoots a cautionary look at his father but the man ignores him. "Of course, young man, you're quite famous."

"Famous? For what?"

"He doesn't know about his parents." Jason interjects

"What? That they were drunks killed in a crash?"

Grimlock and Ignatius Prewitt shoot to their feet, offended and furious.

Jason steps in again. "I went to school with your parents, Harry. A car crash couldn't have killed them and a car crash did not kill them."

"Then?” The boy looks up at him, trusting, hopeful, but confused. “How?"

"You remember those very wrong people we discussed earlier?" The boy quickly nods. "Many of those people are convinced of something called 'blood purity' which, honestly is nothing more than horrible racism. But, before you were born, this pack of racists found a leader. A terrible, evil man that made them feel powerful and gave them direction. They brought our country into a blood war -a war over their beloved blood purity.

"Hundreds of people died. Or were injured, cursed, tortured, driven insane. Entire families died out left and right, it was horrible.

"And your parents, Harry, like myself, and my father, and our whole family, fought against him. Then, at the height of his power, when many of us thought He was unbeatable, something happened. No one knows quite what -though there are thousands of rumors- but your parents were murdered and He died. Personally, I think they took Him with them but some people -people on both sides- think it was you. They think that your parents were already dead and for some reason He couldn't hurt you and somehow that killed him but, either way. Your parents died. He died. And you lived."

"And that's why I'm famous? Because my parents died and I didn't? That's-"

"Rather terrible."

Harry nods once, sharply, in agreement.

"Do you know anything about your parents, Harry? Has anyone ever told you about them?"

The boys shakes his head.

"There is a Will," Grimlock puts in. "If young Mister Potter would like, the Bank can execute it on his behalf and then you would have access to everything your parents left you."

"Like pictures?" is Harry's very first question and Jason's heart _breaks_.

He puts a hand on the boy's shoulder  "Should be but if not I can find you some. Like I said, I was in their year at school so I can tell you stories about them too."

The boy nods with his whole body and leans into Jason, just a bit, silently seeking comfort.

There's a knock on the door and it opens before Grimlock can even think to bring any of his magical barricades down. Why becomes obvious rather quickly when the door opens and High Chieftain Ragnok is holding the doorknob as he lets only himself in. No magic in the bank can keep out the High Chieftain.

"Well, be seated," Ragnok orders as he moves behind Grimlock's desk, sending the lower ranking goblin scrambling out of his own seat and around to the other side. "I took note that the Potters' Will has never been executed and took the liberty of bringing it with me. Shall we begin?"

All adults in the room look to Harry. The boy straightens himself and moves to the middle seat, directly in front of the leader of the Goblin Horde. "Yes, please."


	6. Prompt: Kiss, Fandom: NCIS

**Title** : Just A Kiss (Goodnight)  
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe  
**Fandom** : NCIS, Criminal Minds  
**Characters** : Emily Prentiss/Tony DiNozzo, background Penelope Garcia/Derek Morgan  
**Prompt** : Kiss  
**Tags** : Sentinels and Guides are known  
**Word Count** : 862  
**Warning** : No beta   
**Summary** : When Penelope is right, she’s right, and Emily isn’t even mad.

 

Emily Prentiss isn't much of a Guide.

That's what they said anyway. Years ago, when she came online just a few weeks before the expected end of her mission to get Valkyrie, because her empathy is barely there. Something more like intuition than any sort of reliable ability. Unless she's trying to use it on someone she knows well.

Though that could change when she bonds. If she bonds.

She's not going to bond.

Sentinels are too rare and her levels are too low. None of them have ever wanted her.

Still, it's interesting. A thought.

Emily and JJ approach their table at Penelope's side. The three men that are already seated all stand when they draw near. Derek, of course, kisses his bride to-be on the cheek because the two of them are ridiculously cute and then turns to introduce his groomsmen. Emily doesn't even catch the first one's name because of the second.

He's tall, just a touch taller than she is even in her heels. Golden brown hair, playful green eyes, and Emily can feel _his_ stomach flip when their eyes meet.

"Tony DiNozzo," he says, reaching out to shake her hand.

"Emily Prentiss," and it's the clearest read she's ever gotten from a stranger.

His smile is bold and charming but not crossing over the line into sleazy. It's endearing, really, to feel his nerves, his hope.

"Derek says you're a guide? Does that help you profile?" She's not quite sure how they end up sitting together but they do and it's so nice talking with someone honestly interested in _her_. In her interests and her job, in her ambitions. Someone not just in her breasts and mouth.

"Hotch, Reid, and Rossi should be here in a few. They had to pick up something." Garcia says, radiating _'I told you so'_ smugness in her fiancé's general direction.

"Alright," Derek concedes to his lady love on _levels_. He's feeling pretty pleased with himself too but Emily can't honestly find it in herself to care because Tony DiNozzo is basically perfect.

The only thing that could make him more perfect is if he were online rather than latent.

Then again, all things considered, if he were online already he wouldn't be here, available to _her_.

Their missing three show up and they make it through dinner, idly chit chatting about the wedding. Emily's honestly not sure how they are all going to be in town for the big church wedding Penelope wants but Hotch is completely certain that he can make it happen.

"I'm taking leave," Tony tells her when the subject comes up. "Two weeks, with the wedding in the middle of the second so nothing can come up. It's already been approved."

"Oh, that's so sweet!"

Emily is surprised to find herself a bit jealous when Penelope takes Tony's focus from her. They are all here to discuss Penelope's day, of course the bridal party is going to pay attention to her some of the time.

Tony's little eyebrow quirk when he turns back to her tells her he didn't miss her reaction. She flushes but she's not really ashamed. Tony seems to read that in her too and just grins.

Hours later, with dawn just beginning to color the sky, they walk home. _Tony_ walks her home. She's wearing his jacket and a cheap pair of corner store flip flops, he's carrying her heels, and they are still talking. They had only stopped talking to dance really and other than a few emotionally charged moments they kept a whispered conversation going as they danced anyway.

"Well," Tony says, looking up at her building. "We made it."

"Yeah," she draws it out, making her disappointment clear.

Tony grins sympathetically in response and steps close, like they are about to start dancing again.

"I want to kiss you." He says, looking down into her eyes. "But. Kissing you would change my whole life."

Emily's breath catches. She's not getting anything bad from him _per se_. Nerves. Hope. A bone-deep certainty and commitment that resonates deep within her and comforts her, rather than sending her running like it usually would.

"Is that a bad thing?" She asks. She means it to come out teasing but she's way too invested for that.

"Only if you don't want it as much as I do."

She moves a hand up to cradle the back of his head. "I do."

She can feel his _soul_ studder. After a heartbeat, a blink, he leans down and seals their mouths together.

She shudders and he clutches her tighter. His tongue gently begs for entrance to her mouth and she welcomes it. She _wants_ in a way she never has never wanted anything before, in a way she can't readily articulate. It's so foreign but it's magical and she wants to want him too.

She can feel his mind opening in a new way, again in a way she's never felt, and she instinctively allows hers to reach out and meet him.

Emily pulls back with a gasp and Tony buries his face in her neck.

"Sentinel," she whispers, overwhelmed and so, so grateful for it.

"Guide."


	7. Prompt: Wet, Fandom: NCIS

**Title** : What are the Chances?  
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe  
**Fandom** : NCIS, JAG  
**Characters**   pre-Tony DiNozzo/Brad Pitt, side AJ Chegwidden/Harmon Rabb  
**Prompt** : Wet  
**Tags** : Sentinels and Guides are known, Episode related - S.W.A.K.  
**Word Count** : 998  
**Warning** : No beta   
**Summary** : Dr. Brad Pitt gets one hell of a surprise.

 

“Lieutenant Commander?”

A hand lands on his shoulder and Brad is instantly aware it’s a bonded sentinel. He looks up to see who needs him but his eyes are blurry. He blinks for focus and wetness rolls down his cheeks, he’s...crying?

“Brad, are you okay?” The Admiral asks.

It’s not time for the Admiral’s monthly unbonded check-ups. That was, what? Last week. His eyes slide to his nurse hovering beside Guide Rabb. She nods to him once and ducks away, back into the room with- with-

“I found my sentinel,” He whispers knowing the sentinel before him will hear regardless of volume.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“I’m treating him for Plague.”

The Admiral sucks in his breath and Brad just nods. The Plague pretty much wiped out sentinels in Europe almost 600 years ago because sentinels couldn’t _not_ help. Most of them couldn’t fight the imperative to do everything possible to protect the Tribe and the bacteria had really liked them.

He’s mentally wandering. He’s aware he’s wandering because he doesn’t want to focus on the face that the _perfect_ sentinel for him has an infection that is just as likely to make him dormant as to bring him online.

Christ, he’s lucky _he_ didn’t make Anthony DiNozzo dormant himself, when he broke the asshole’s leg in ‘92.

“You have a duty here,” Chegwidden says, drawing Brad’s attention back to him. “No matter how it goes you have to get him through this. He needs you at the top of your game. _You_ need you at the top of your game because as long as he’s alive there’s a chance he could come online. He’s depending on you, Brad.”

“Right,” He begins nodding and isn’t quite sure how to stop. “Right.”

“What do you need?”

Brad’s mind goes blank but not really blank, thoughts are just going too fast for him to hold on to them. “Uh, Emma. Is good. We can do this. We will do this.”

Rabb moves around his sentinel and pulls Brad up and into a hug.

“What do _we_ need to do?” Rabb asks in his ear after several moments.

Brad pulls back but doesn’t let go. “He’s under the lights, in a controlled setting. We started an IV to increase the efficacy of the streptomycin.” He forces himself to think. “X-rays. We need to find out that status of his pneumonia.”

“Okay, what else? Do we need to find him a reason to pull through?”

Pretty sure Kate has that covered with the sort of challenge/blame/competition dynamic the two have going on. It’s kind of cute, like a sibling thing. Kate is the one that knows his sentinel best on a personal level and she’s convinced the challenge will help. “That’s covered.”

Rabb rears back shocked and Brad has to review what he’s said. “Not that. I didn’t tell him. I can’t, it would be cruel and unethical.”

“Then?”

“He has a co-worker in there with him. She’s not infected but refuses to leave and she’s motivating him to get better. Trying to.”

Flirting with Emma seems to help too. Brad hasn’t picked up any intent or sexual interest in his nurse but the act of it improves his sentinel’s mood. It amuses him, and that can only help.

“What about his family?”

“The hospital hasn’t gotten back to me about them.”

“How long has it been?”

Uh, “Over twenty hours?”

“I’ll find out what’s going on.” Chegwidden offers. “What’s your sentinel’s name?”

“Tony, Anthony DiNozzo.”

The Admiral’s eyebrows shoot up. “Gibbs’s DiNozzo?”

That’s a kick in the chest. His sentinel has a lover?!?

“DiNozzo is Gibbs’s subordinate,” Rabb hastens to comfort. “They are a team. They just investigate together.”

“Best investigators at NCIS.” Chegwidden puts in. “Gibbs is an unbonded alpha sentinel. Probably taking apart whoever did this right now.”

Four hours later, Chegwidden is proven right.

He and Emma are holding his sentinel, supporting him as he chokes up what sounds like an entire lung. He can hear Kate sobbing behind him, saying the _one thing_ Brad’s been refusing to let himself think for hours now.

Emma goes stiff, her eyes fixed over his shoulder and Brad turns to see a complete idiot pushing his way through the room’s airlock.

Just before his can give the man what for, that idiot gives him the best fucking news he has ever heard.

“The bug had a suicide gene.”

“It’s dead?”

“Been dead for over an hour.”

Brad has to spin and grab the bed to keep his feet. He watches the alpha crouch beside his sentinel and growl. “You will not die, you got that?” Tony continues to struggle and the alpha taps his head harder than Brad would advise but he can feel the surge of alpha command as he repeats himself. “I said, you. Will not. Die.”

Tony goes very still. “Got it, Boss.”

The alpha nods and puts something in his sentinel’s hand. He puts Tony’s clenching hand on his chest and says something sarcastic but Brad can’t hear it. Tony’s eyes are on him. He can feel the sentinel’s mind surge like it’s breaking through some kind of barrier and Brad can’t move, he doesn’t want to.

He can feel so much and so little and it’s so _focused_ and- Tony’s fingers inch his hand down the bed until they brush Brad’s gloved hand.

It’s a question. A hope.

Brad shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t but he can’t leave his sentinel hanging. He _can’t_. He pulls off his glove and sets his hand right back where it was.

There’s a hesitation. He can feel his sentinel’s eyes on him like a physical thing. He can also feel acceptance and satisfaction and the first traces of sexual desire he’s felt from the man in damn near two days.

A hand lays over his and he can’t help but smile.

Tony smiles back weakly before closing his eyes, radiating a low-level smugness. “Guide.”

“Sentinel.”


	8. Prompt: Rule 63, Fandom: Hannibal

**Title** : The Dinner Party  
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe  
**Fandom** : Hannibal  
**Characters** : pre-Hannibal/Will Graham  
**Prompt** : Rule 63! - always a girl Will Graham  
**Word Count** : 1567  
**Warning** : No beta, implied cannibalism, this one might come down because I reserve the right to expand it  
**Summary** : Will is an awkward little snowflake, Hannibal is charmed.

 

 

When Alana RSVP’s to his first dinner party in two years with a plus one, Hannibal is surprised.

When she shows up with a _woman_ wearing what he knows to be one of Alana’s own -older and unfavored- dresses, he’s confused.

He’s thoroughly aware of Alana’s pansexuality. They’ve discussed sexualities on both professional and personal levels so her showing up with a woman is not the surprise so much as her showing up with someone at all. Specifically, her showing up with someone other than him.

Alana has been trying to induce him to ‘make a move’ for years now and while he’s not uninterested, he’s having fun drawing out the game. Waiting for it to be something he can use to his advantage. To suddenly lose? And to a previously unknown suitor?

That is unacceptable.

“Alana,” he greets her as he enters the sitting room to invite everyone to be seated.

“Hannibal!” She smiles. It’s the same open and flirtatious smile she’s given her since she started their little game and he can see now that this too is just a new play. She is showing him the _wrong_ one to help him see her as the right one. And she’s using a woman that considers her a friend to do this.

How rude.

“May I be introduced to your companion?”

“Of course! Dr. Hannibal Lecter, meet my _friend_ , Willow Graham. Will, Dr. Lecter.”

Will Graham. As in the profiler with pure empathy. No wonder Chilton’s been hovering despite Alana’s social no-trespassing sign.

“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Graham.”

Ms. Graham nods at him absently but accepts his hand to shake. Her obvious disinterest and discomfort are strangely alluring.

“Surgeon?” she asks, glancing from his hand to his chin.

“In a former life, perhaps. Now I am but a humble psychiatrist.”

She snorts and meets his gaze around ill-fitting glasses frames. She blinks, blinks again, and tips her head so that the frames are no longer between them. “You left off dissecting human bodies to dissect human psyches.”

She tilts her head and focuses like she’s trying to be sure of what she’s seeing. She opens her mouth to comment but instead stops and pulls her hand from his grip.

How rude. Hannibal is _charmed_.

“Come,” He says, offering her his arm.

She takes it with a show of reluctance and he turns to speak to the room. “Dinner is served.”

He proceeds to personally escort Ms. Graham to his dining room table and seats her in Alana’s place to his right, unceremoniously bumping Alana down a peg to the seat labeled for her guest.

Alana is not amused but Hannibal is and Ms. Graham’s flush as he tucks her in is the most delightful thing he’s seen in an age.

“Why a dinner party?” Will asks, taking in the plating in a way that suggests she would rather be at a crime scene as his staff bustles busily around the seated table.

“Baltimore Opera has acquired a new diva, of which I am an avid fan. And when Marsella here,” he indicates the woman on his left. “Offered a private show for myself and a few guests, I simply had to make an occasion of it.”

“I’ve never been to the opera,” Will confesses directly to the diva’s cameo necklace.

Marsella smiles, obviously as charmed as he is by the other woman’s awkwardness. “We are opening Carmen in two weeks. You simply must come.

Ms. Graham’s eyes go wide, her face goes pale, and she looks faint at the suggestion.

Honestly, killing Marsella’s predecessor has to be one of the best decisions he’s ever made.

The profiler starts to stammer some excuse, Hannibal steps in quickly. “It would be my pleasure to take you. Opening night.”

Will flushes with what he thinks might be pleasure and struggles not to gape but the diva is beaming at them. “I’ll arrange backstage passes, shall I? You can see all the magic, before and after the show.”

“That would be perfect. If you’ll excuse me.” Hannibal stands, silently reminding himself to be careful. Regardless of how fetching she looks both flushed and pale it simply would not do to end their evening early by inducing a headache in his dear Will.

Seeing he has everyone’s attention, Hannibal raises his glass. “Before we begin you must all be warned: Nothing here is vegetarian. Bon Appetit.”

-*-*-*-*-

The music room on the second floor of his house is of course the only room with the appropriate acoustics for a performer such as Marsella though the room had to be altered for his guests’ comfort and to add a proper staging area. The two weeks he’d had to prepare had been more than enough time to clean out the room, acquire and arrange a half dozen suitable couches, and redecorate.

On top of acquiring and preparing the meal, it had been a joyful challenge.

Not that anyone will ever know the lengths to which he has gone as he’s never allowed guests beyond the ground floor of his house but there is a flicker across young Will’s face, a silent glance his direction that says she sees the effort and is appropriately moved, if not actually grateful.

Hannibal seats Will on his couch at the center of the couch semi-circle as Marsella sweeps into the center performance area. Once everyone is settled, she boldly jumps into a piece from Carmen. For Will, obviously.

Will listens raptly. At first. The she slowly starts to list his direction, giving him more and more of her weight until her head rests on his shoulder.

He stares down at her, shocked and appalled until he realizes. She’s fallen asleep.

Will Graham, empath and profiler, famous for being socially awkward and physically uncomfortable with other people has fallen asleep on him, Il Mostro, the world’s most dangerous and prolific serial killer. Hannibal boggles.

Marsella ends her performance on a soft note, watching the two of them gently. Applause begins and Will stirs but Alana intercedes with more grace than Hannibal expected, getting people out of his house. Which is good. Because Hannibal has absolutely no intention of standing and possibly waking the magical creature resting on his shoulder, manners be damned.

He does adjust her slightly, bringing his arm around her back and drawing her head to his chest. Her hair is so much softer than it looks and the green of her dress contrasts so nicely against pale her skin.

Quickly he creates a room in his mind palace strictly for this moment. So that he can revisit it again and again.

When he returns to the waking world, Alana is standing alone before them. Her face is a study in contradictions. Hope and joy at her friend finding something so good for her. Jealousy that the good thing is Hannibal whom she wanted for herself. Confusion about Hannibal accepting -even encouraging- Will's unintentional advances.

"I have never seen her do this." Alana confesses softly. "She usually has trouble sleeping even in her own home but now-"

But now she's sound asleep in a stranger's house. She _fell_ asleep surrounded by strangers, during musical performance of quite some volume.

"I would not deprive her of this." Alana sighs sadly. "You'll drive her back to Wolf Trap?"

"In the morning." He agrees with a nod.

Alana nods back and turns. "I'll see myself out."

When he's sure she's gone, he strokes Will's face. She wakes slowly, with a pleased hum and meets his gaze lazily.

"Would you like to continue this in a bed? I have several you may choose from."

Will pushes away from him and stretches enticingly. "How about yours?" She asks, studiously not looking at him. "With you in it."

For the first time in years beyond remembering, interest goes straight to his cock. He ignores it and stands, offering her his hand. "That can be arranged."

Upstairs, wearing only the top of the pajamas he offered, she pushes back his duvet, crawls right across his side of the bed and _flops_ down on her side. Hannibal has moved beyond charmed and straight into fascinated and he can't find it within himself to be troubled.

She curls into him readily, sighs, and throws an arm across his body. "Your mind is so quiet." She offers sleepily. "You are a very passionate man but your control is absolute. It's insanely attractive."

Hannibal feels himself preen internally. His control _is_ absolute. The idea of being with someone that can see that, that can maybe see _him_. He didn't even know he wanted such a thing but now he finds that he does.

"If I'd known serial killers were like this, I'd have started hunting you for a very different reason." Hannibal blinks down at her in shock. Without opening her eyes, she pats his chest comfortingly. "The Ripper, right here." A sigh. "Don't worry, I won't tell. If you want to do the sex in the morning, I'm down."

There is so much in that statement he doesn't know where to. No, he knows where to start. "I would much rather treat you to a whirlwind romance."

"Okay.” She hums sleepily. “I've always wanted to see Paris."

And she's asleep.

Hannibal pulls her close. Hoping this is exactly what he thinks it is, he closes his eyes and holds tight. He has planning to do.


	9. Prompt: Escape, Fandom: Hannibal

**Title** : Cocking It Up  
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe  
**Fandom** : Hannibal  
**Characters** : Hannigram  
**Prompt** : Escape  
**Word Count** : 612  
**Warning** : No beta, semi-joking discussion of a sex cult

 

“Will Graham, meet Dr. Hannibal Lecter.”

And Will honestly doesn’t know what to say. What do you do when you’re part of a secret cock-worshiping ‘cult’ and you suddenly meet someone you don’t officially know outside of the cult’s confines? _‘Oh, an introduction is_ not _necessary. He was balls deep in me just last night!’_ is probably not an appropriate answer to give the man that’s kind of your boss.

There should definitely be a handbook for this shit.

Will makes a mental note to ask Bedelia when he sees her tonight but in the meantime he does his best to ignore the man without being completely rude. It’s a strange line to walk but it’s Will’s favorite and, honestly, it’s what people expect from him.

He nods, accepts the handshake, and doesn't make eye contact.

He doesn’t linger a little overlong holding the man’s hand and he _definitely_ doesn’t glance at the man’s, uh, package. Or even in it’s general direction. He doesn’t.

He does look up to check Jack and finds the man looking _very confused_.

Will wants to reassure him but _‘Don’t worry he’s just the Left Hand/probable serial killer for the cult I joined,’_ would put them right back in deep in the heart of inappropriate territory.

Fuck his life, seriously.

“How many dead girls?” Oh, thank god, Hannibal to the rescue.

“Eight.”

“And how many confessions?” That rich, smokey, dark voice floats over to him as the doctor bends to examine the crime board.

Will has to sit down before he embarasses himself. God, just let him escape this with his dignity!

An erection is absolutely the worst thing he could get in front of his boss while looking at a crime board but all he can think of is getting his hands on that ass. Or, rather, the last time he had his hands on that ass. As Hannibal fucked his mouth. The man pulled his hair and fucking _growled_. It was so hot.

Will fights the flush he can feel trying to climb up his cheeks and focuses on his coffee. But then the viper of his brain strikes again and reflected in the coffee’s surface he can see that time with the mirror. Watching Hannibal’s back and ass and thighs flex and move while Hannibal fucks him, tireless and constant. Like a machine, it was-

Will can see the dead face of Elise Nichols watching from the background. Oh, god. She’s so disappointed. It’s- “Tasteless,” He scolds himself.

“Do you have problems with taste?” Hannibal asks earnestly and he regains his seat.

Will risks a glance. The bastard is laughing at him. Figures. “My thoughts are not often tasty.”

Which is false. His current thoughts are about Hannibal’s dick which he knows from experience is quite tasty. But this is not the time for that. Not even remotely.

“Nor mine. No effective barriers.”

Will’s confused. Barriers? They don’t use _condoms._ With their ranks in the cult- Oh. Wait. Right. Not that. “I build forts.”

“Associations come quickly.” But Hannibal doesn’t, thank god.

Will jerks his own mental leash. He needs to stay focused. He’s here for his job, not his… hobby. He needs to stay calm and focused and not embarrass himself. Especially not in front of Hannibal.

Not five minutes later Will storms out of the office, all over furious. His favorite dick is- Well, _he’s a dick!_ See if he gets a piece of Will Graham ever again. That psychoanalyzing, psychotic fucker. Just wait! He will find out exactly what that ass’s damage is and turn him over the the FBI. See _him_ psychoanalyzed for the rest of his life!

Fucker.


	10. Prompt: Magic, Fandom: NCIS

**Title** : Sins of the Father  
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe  
**Fandom** : NCIS with background Numb3rs  
**Characters** : Tony, Abby, Gibbs  
**Prompt** : Magic  
**Word Count** : 603  
**Warning** : No beta  
**Notes:** 1.) LDSK = Long Distance Serial Killer. 2.) This is about Tony's "daughter." Please note I have never seen and am not interested in seeing the episode where she is met.  
**Summary** : A different take on Tony’s “daughter”

  


"Of course she's yours, she has your eyes!"

Tony doesn't even try not to sigh. "You'd think I would be evidence that I am not the only sperm donor in my family that can make a kid with green eyes!" Abby opens her mouth to argue but he cuts her off. "You're also forgetting that weekend we had together in Palm Springs? About six months after I join NCIS?"

Abby gapes at him for a moment and then her blue eyes go round. "Oh! That Self-Love Weekend we took. You're right!" Abby turns to get Gibbs. "Tony can't get hard for a woman. I have empirical evidence. The sample size was _large_!" McGee makes a face behind Gibbs' back and Abby huffs at him. "Not me, Timmy! I'm ace! My only loves are Caf-Pows and Science!" Abby's smirk goes wicked. "That said, I do like to watch and watch I did! Tony takes it in the ass like a cha-"

Tony slaps a hand over her mouth. "I think they get the point."

"You're saying she's not your kid." Gibbs grumps. "The paperwork says she is."

"That's why I'm asking for a paternity test. Abbs can you do it?"

Abigail doesn't grace that with a response. He should know better than to doubt the magic of her babies. She’ll get this and any other necessary test done faster than they’ve ever been done! She just turns to her babies and starts preparing the samples he already provided. "So, how's Ian? It is still Ian, right?"

"It’s always been Ian." Tony rolls his eyes and follows her lead, turning to face the workstation, ignoring the audience. "It looks like it’s going to always be Ian. I think he wants to tattoo his name on my forehead or something but we've compromised and are talking marriage."

"Oh! That's so exciting! I haven't seen him in forever, where _is_ he?"

"He's in LA working a case with his buddy Don."

"On that LDSK terrorizing LA?"

"Yeah, that one. I have a bet with myself that it's more than one but I'm not allowed to help on Don's cases because he's an ass about it. So, you know."

"You can't just let people die, Tony!"

"I'm not! It's a hunch. With no evidence to back it up, it has no value."

"You should like drop him a hint or something." She grumps.

Tony scoffs. "It's like you've forgotten who I am."

"Well maybe I have!" She declares punching a few buttons. "We haven't done," She stops and blinks. The pause continues. A little more and then! "Tony! We haven't done lunch together in eight _years!_ And our ace dates! We haven't gone bowling or to the movies or _anything_ in even longer! Oh my god! Is this my fault? This is my fault, isn't it? I started doing those things with Ziva and -oh, my god! I was about to bully you into taking my friend’s kid but it's you! You are my friend! Not that Ziva wasn't but you, Tony! You came first and you're still here after I _abandoned_ you! Oh, my-"

"Abbs!" Gibbs barks, stopping the flail-a-thon in its tracks. "You got something there or not?"

"Oh! Right, Gibbs!" Abby stomps back over to her work station, clicks around for a few moments and freezes. "I have to go with 'not' here Gibbs."

"What?" They all ask together.

"Not, I have to go with not. Tony is _not_ a paternal match for little Miss Tali."

"Am I right?" Tony swallows nervously. "Is she my sister?"

Abbs gives him the wide, shocked eyes.

And nods.


	11. Prompt: Sword, Fandom: Inception

**Title** : Living the Dream  
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe  
**Fandom** : Inception  
**Characters** : Arthur, Eames, John Sheppard  
**Prompt** : Sword  
**Word Count** : 772   
**Warning** : No beta  
**Note** : In my head Eames’s sword is the Sword of Gryffindor directly from the movie. I wanted it to come up but it didn’t make sense in the story for it to do so =/  
**Summary:** It should be noted that John Sheppard is a bastard that would do anything for Atlantis. Honestly.

  
  
It says something about the extraction that Eames dreaming himself a motherfucking sword and cutting off a projection’s head is the best damn part so far. Okay, no. Correction: That Eames cuts off the projection’s head and it _stays down_ is the best part of this so far.

“What the fuck?!?” Arthur cries again, because it bares repeating, gives himself an AK and going full auto on these assholes. He thought of using a flamethrower but that could come to bite them in the ass too easily and he is _not_ going to make this situation worse.

He’s never seen projections like these.

They look like Marilyn Manson done in shades of silver, blue, and white with bonus face tattoos for funsies. They swarm like fucking bees or maybe sharks? And if you shoot one and it doesn’t immediately die it zaps life or something from the one beside it and they _both_ keep coming.

Beheading seems to work though, so there’s that.

“He’s supposed to be a scientist!” Arthur protests on the reload. “A _civilian_ scientist!”

Simple extraction, they said. Just get the address for a drop, they said. Then Eames heard the codename for the drop was ‘Atlantis’ and _of course_ they were in, dammit. His fucking nerd, honestly.

“Even I couldn’t dream this big, darling.” Eames huffs, dodging a fucking palm-mouth and decapitating his dance partner on the backswing.

That brings Arthur up short. “What? You think these things are real?”

The last of _this_ hunting party falls and Eames leans back against the house’s nice white siding to catch his breath. “Somewhere, yeah. Nothing else makes much sense, does it? These are very complicated projections to just be made up. Could your government have _made_ something like this?”

Arthur wants to deny it adamantly but, well, his government did come up with PASIV. And _Somnacin_. So, “Maybe?

“I don't see the use in it, though.” Not that that is necessarily a factor. There are no doubt factions in the military-industrial complex so senseless that they would put lasers on sharks if it gave them half an advantage.

Or, you know, if it looked cool.

None of that is actually important right now. “Did you at least get it?”

Eames shoots him a rebuking look. “You don’t think I’d trigger the mark’s advanced security for nothing, do you? Of course I bloody got it! Hell if I know that it means, though.”

Eames holds out a well marked interoffice envelope and Arthur snatches it out of his hand, ready to memorize _anything_ -

But. That.

“What? Are they like, hieroglyphs?” There are eight symbols on the page but they are nothing like any alphabet Arthur’s ever _seen._ Nothing like anything he’s ever even heard of.

“Not hieroglyphs. Petroglyphs, maybe. Or star constellations? That third one looks like the Big Dipper, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Arthur just sighs as a horrifyingly familiar snarl sounds behind them and checks his watch. They have half an hour left on the clock and they can’t even shoot each other out of it because they used Yusuf’s mix for the extra time. “Hunker down or run?” He asks his partner.

“Run,” Eames declares immediately and without hesitation. “Run like the world is on fire.”

With a nod, Arthur leads them across the happy little suburban lane, over a hedgerow, and into a two-storey with the United States flag flying out front. In the basement, down a hidden staircase and through a reinforced steel safe door there’s a tunnel. The tunnel runs for a mile underground to a small pier with a speed boat tied to the moorings.

Normally Arthur scoffs at Eames’ insistence for non-sensical bolt holes randomly distributed around every map build.

Now he realizes Eames should -and probably will- insist on them more often.

They are on the boat and it’s started when they get buzzed by a plane from above. A weird-ass fighter jet is pink, of all fucking colors, that sounds like a mosquito on steroids.

Arthur and Eames both watch almost helplessly as the thing banks, goes weightless for a moment, and turns right around to meet them head on. A beam of white light shoots down from the belly, scanning the water toward them. The beam hits the bow of the boat and moments later a man appears, dressed in BDUs and combat boots.

Their mark.

Their _fucking_ mark, complete with that inky mess on his head and stupid nose that makes him look like some crazy-ass bird. The probably not-really-a-scientist rocks back on his heels casual as shit. He shrugs off their wordless disbelief and informs them, “You’re hired.”


	12. Prompt: Desperation, Fandom: MCU

**Title** : Free Falling  
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe  
**Fandom** : MCU  
**Characters** : Darcy, Mjolinr, Thor  
**Prompt** : Desperation  
**Word Count** : 511  
**Warning** : No beta  
**Summary** : The standard issue S.H.I.E.L.D. battle onsie is not designed to maximize wind resistance. Suddenly this feels like a _gross oversight_.

 

She is going to die.

Despite the utter desperation trying to choke her, Darcy Lewis shouts “Help!” with all her might.

The standard issue S.H.I.E.L.D. battle onsie is not designed to maximize wind resistance. Suddenly this feels like a _gross oversight._ As she plummets through the air at terminal velocity.

Working on the helicarrier should come with a squirrel suit at the very least. Surely some Stark electromagnetic magic could make it not a complete burden on humanity when you’re not falling _thousands of feet through the air_. She’ll ask him at the next opportunity. Dad won’t mind as long as she gets the paperwork in before the design is actually patented and produced.

“Gotcha!” Iron Man shouts but misses the rescue swipe as something heavy and bitey lands in the middle of his back. War Machine is already covered in a dozen of the nasty creatures and Thor is nowhere in sight.

He better be securing their goddamn geek. That’s the whole reason she took this tumble in the first place and if Thor fails to protect Jane, Darcy will fucking _haunt him_ forever. Jane is too delicate for this shit, alright? That whole Dark Matter thing really fucked her up, full out war with alien goblin things is a No Go for Dr. Jane.

“Aw, Christ. HELP!!” Darcy reaches upward. Someone’s got to be coming in with the swoop, right? It doesn’t even have to be a flying Avenger, a Hulk Battle Cuddle would do just fine! Maybe a Super Shield Divebomb, she’s not fucking picky!

There’s a tingle in her palm like she put her whole hand in a socket. Seconds later there’s a _slap_ fit to shatter mountains and Darcy’s hand closes around a warm wooden handle.

Then impact.

“Mew Mew,” Darcy can’t believe her eyes. She can’t believe her hands! She’s standing in the middle of a crater that she just made _with her body._ She’s wearing armor. She’s wearing _Thor’s armor_ including a bonus helmet she’s pretty sure Mew Mew stole from Zechs fucking Marquise -seriously? Who let the sentient hammer watch anime?- and most importantly she’s whole.

She’s better than whole, she's strong and there’s a fire like no other burning in her veins.

Thor touches down on one side of her and Iron Man drops Cap on the other. In the distance she can hear the Widow’s favorite jet coming in for a landing.

“Nice upgrade, Sparky!” Iron Man slaps her on the back but she can barely feel it. Like it’s just a little tap rather than the whole body staggering experience she knows it should be but-

Her eyes are fixed on Thor. Mew Mew is his. Surely he wants her back. Darcy holds the hammer up to him but he just smiles at her, kind despite the worry she can see in his eyes and pulls a big ass axe - _Jarnbjorn_ , a voice whispers in her head- out of fuck knows where and takes a ready stance she’s never seen him use before.

“Shall we?”


	13. Prompt: Rule 63, Fandom: Criminal Minds

**Title** : Trey  
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe  
**Fandom** : Criminal Minds  
**Characters** : Always-a-dude JJ Jareau, Steve McGarrett, Tony DiNozzo  
**Prompt** : Rule 63!  
**Word Count** : 1489  
**Warning** : No beta  
**Note:** So. I wrote this based off my headcanons about JJ, then I read up on her in Wiki and realized I have a huge geographical mistake in my conception of JJ. I tried re-writing this closer to canon but Trey ended up being basically a whitewashed Derek Morgan and that was boring and pointless so we’re sticking with Plan A.  
**Summary** : A lecture at Georgetown changes Trey’s life.

 

 

 

Trey does not sigh as a big familiar body plops down into the seat next to him. He doesn’t, but he comes damn near close. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Went looking for my favorite drinking buddy only to find out he left base for some university lecture by a cop!” Steve throws an obnoxious arm across his shoulders as if there is any doubt who the drinking buddy in question might be. “The hell are you doing here?”

“Evading some asshole that _technically_ outranks me. I thought you were allergic to classrooms.”

“Classrooms, sure but not co-eds. Figure I can brave one and use the other to keep a buddy from making the biggest mistake _of his life_. Come on, what’s going on here?”

“Not everyone wants to give their life to the Navy, _Steven_.”

“That may be true, _Justin_ , but those people don’t become SEALs. You’d give that up to become a cop? Really?”

Trey gives him the look that deserves and sits back in his chair, facing front. There’s a line of people waiting to ask Special Agent Rossi questions and he’s giving them five minutes apiece but Trey is just watching the crowd, mostly just getting an eye on possible competition-

“Well, what do we have here?” Steve purrs almost gleefully as the _other thing_ Trey was watching steps forward to address Rossi. Trey ignores the idiot.

The man is about 6 feet tall with a solid, athletic build, gravity-defying golden brown hair and -once he removes his glasses, Trey can see- bright green eyes. Target is ridiculously attractive. And he’s pretty sure Target and Rossi know each other, what with the smiles and the hugs and the back-slapping. There’s teasing, too. They go well over Rossi’s regimented five minutes, laughing the whole time.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” He asks his best friend the nuisance-n-chief.

Steve just smirks at him and clutches his hands behind his head, “I’m good.” His eyes still avidly on Target, goddammit.

Rossi gets them moving again before the grumbles get too pronounced. “Well, when you see the light make sure you call me. The USS _FBI_ has plenty of room when you finally decide to jump ship.” Target laughs again and leaves with a brand new copy of Rossi’s latest book, signed right then and there, with a card slid inside like a bookmark.

It is, of course, too much to hope for that Steven will fuck off when he goes to approach the guy. Nope, Steve is right there, being the biggest cockblock on the planet. He tugs Trey back so he can’t meet the guy in any safe, sane place like at the top of the lecture hall or in a well-lit corridor.

No, they tail the guy who is obviously law enforcement. Because that’s smart.

“I got this,” Steve assures him as they follow Target around a corner right on the edge of the campus.

Steve don’t got this. Target is nowhere in sight. It’s well after dark but the campus is still wide awake and there are people walking around. It’s winter so everyone with sense is bundled up, making it harder to positively identify individuals.

“Something I can help you with, fellas?”

They turn to see Target smiling at them with a 9 mil in hand.

Trey rubs the vein above his left eyebrow, “Still got this, Smooth Dog?”

Target’s smile grows, “Smooth Dog?”

He’s laughing at them. Of course he’s laughing at them. Two fucking SEALs that got dropped on by a goddamn LEO. Who wouldn’t be laughing at them?

Steve, of course, smiles all big and innocent and extends a hand, “Lieutenant Steve McGarrett, U.S. Navy.”

Target just looks at it, looks at Steve, looks back at the hand, and flicks unimpressed eyes over to Trey.

“Lieutenant Justin Jareau,” He introduces himself without prompting. “Navy.”

“Supervisory Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS.”

This just keeps getting better and better. Trey glares at Steve.

Fucking Steve though just doesn’t even care. “So you’d know a good place to eat around here. Trey and I just shipped in and aren’t very familiar with the area.”

“Really.” Trey has never heard that much jaded disbelief in one word before.  It’s truly impressive.

“I just wanted to ask you out to dinner,” He answers those eyes when they flick back to him.

A quick eye roll and DiNozzo pulls a phone out of his breast pocket. He hits a few keys quickly and competently even left handed. He sighs expansively as he puts it away. “I’m feeling wings on, uh, Smooth Dog, was it?”

“I’ll get you all the chicken you want.” Steve answers in a tone that should only be used to _proper_ innuendo but never is when he’s around. “But you gotta convince my friend to stay in the Navy, you owe it to me.”

“I don’t owe you a damn thing,” DiNozzo laughs in his face. “Unless you’d rather I report your stalking of a federal agent?”

“Looks like you’re getting off pretty easy,” Trey assures his best friend as he moves up beside DiNozzo, “Which way?”

DiNozzo checks his watch but doesn’t put his firearm away. Probably smart. “Rickie’s Bar is probably our best bet this late.

“So you thinking about law enforcement?”

“Yeah,” Trey nods, making sure to keep his hands in plain view. “I want to help people. Not that I don’t in the Navy, but-” Trey huffs, not really sure how to put it.

“You want roots. Makes sense, you are getting older.”

Trey look sup at the Agent sharply. The man is smiling, teasing. He puts up his firearm when the Bar’s doorman is in sight and they walk in like a group of friends.

“Tony! I thought you finished your classes.” The waitress obviously knows him. She just looks over Trey and Steve with a lascivious smile that would turn him off even if he was inclined toward females. “You always have the prettiest company. The usual?”

“Eh, let them look at the menus. We’re probably going to be here a while.”

She raises both eyebrows at DiNozzo but it’s Steve that answers her as he climbs onto the tall chair. “We’re arguing over my friend’s life choices.”

The woman sensibly takes their drink orders and scurries as DiNozzo turns on McGarrett. “And what’s wrong with being a cop?”

“My dad was a cop when he got out of the Navy. The one bit of career advice he gave me? ‘Don’t be a cop.’ I think that says everything that anyone might need to know.”

“So what are you going to do when you get out of the Navy?”

“I’m not getting out of the Navy,” Steve looks at their new friend like he’s crazy.

DiNozzo huffs and focuses on Trey. “Law Enforcement wasn’t my plan either but I wouldn’t give it up now. Putting the bad guy away? Helping victims and their families gain closure? There’s nothing quite like it. Especially doing for service-people that already give so much to our country. But if you aren’t sure, you can always do a ride-along or something. Tour the FBI Academy, maybe.”

“Or I could just talk to you.” Trey smiles his flirtatious best. DiNozzo is made of some pretty stern stuff because he just laughs and nods. “Tell me about your most interesting case.”

“Okay, so a few months ago they found a dead Marine in a coffin from the Civil War at the Smithsonian.” And what follows is a ridiculous story dealing with an honest-to-god treasure map and a rogue group of grave robbers. Then there’s a story about a Petty Officer gunned down while driving with a side of mistaken identity. And _then_ -

Chairs are going up onto table tops around the bar when Tony asks, casual as can be, “So which one of you is taking me home?” The agent sips his beer. “Or is this a both kind of thing?”

Trey looks over to Steve. They’ve shared bottoms in the past -like a lot- but that wasn’t really his intention.

Steve shrugs and leans back, letting Trey know he’ll back off if Trey wants him to, no hard feelings. Trey rubs his thumb along his chin, considering. Just because they do it this once doesn’t mean- Well, alright.

“Both is good.”

-*-*-*-*-

Trey huffs under his breath as Steve abandons the morning after for a _run_.

They did some pretty kinky stuff last night and Tony needs someone to watch out for him until at least noon. That’s just basic courtesy and responsibility, but then again Steve wouldn’t know courtesy if it came up and frisked him. And responsibility in Steve-land deals strictly with bullets and explosives.

There’s a reason Trey’s never bottomed for the bastard.

Trey shifts until Tony is more firmly secured on his chest. The other man curls more firmly into him and this? This feels like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course you can find all these and more on my website http://wolfetales.net/


	14. Prompt: Surrender, Fandom: Hannibal

**Title** : Réveiller  
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe  
**Fandom** : Hannibal  
**Characters** : Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, Alana Bloom, Abigail Hobbs  
**Prompt** : Surrender  
**Word Count** : 871  
**Warning** : No beta  
**Author’s Note** : Blame FanArts  
**Summary** : What if Seasons 2 and 3 were all in Will’s head?

 

With the last of his strength, Will pushes Hannibal over the cliff's edge. He follows, surrendering to gravity’s pull. Grateful that it's all finally over. Over Hannibal's shoulder he can see the water growing larger, closer with every heartbeat.

He closes his eyes.

With a deep breath, the cold smell of.. antiseptic? fills his lungs. What? He listens for the sounds of the ocean, for the surging water and the laughing of gulls, but all he can hear is beeping. Like a heart monitor? Or something like it at least.

He opens his eyes.

He's in a bed. Warm and hard but definitely a bed. He’s sort of vaguely sitting up, now that he’s paying attention. The sheets under his hands and body are stiff. Alana is seated on his right, her head is tipped forward in awkward sleep and there's an open book trying its best to fall out of her lap.

Hannibal is on his left. Whole and hale -without a single scratch on him.

Will is _very_ confused. "What happened?" He croaks.

There’s a moment with a world of emotion in the serial killing cannibal’s eyes. Then he remembers himself and looks away. "You gave us quite a scare." He answers softly as he pours a cup of water and holds it up where Will can reach the straw. "Small sips."

Will frowns but follows his instructions. The man’s a doctor after all and they are obviously in a hospital. "How long?"

Hannibal presses his lips firmly together, obviously unwilling to answer.

Alana's book finally makes for the floor and she jerks awake. She frowns at Hannibal, trying to figure out why he’s standing. Then she glances down at Will. Her mouth falls open and he can see her mind _stop_ as she sits there blinking at him, confused.

"You collapsed in my office quite some time ago. A severe case of Anti-NMDA encephalitis. You've been in a coma."

"We should call the nurse," Alana finally says. "Let them know he's awake."

Hannibal inclines his head in permission and Alana reaches for the call button.

One nurse bustles in. Two. Three. Followed by the floor doctor. They must have been really worried about him because it’s three in the morning both the head of neurology and his doctor -a person he’s never actually met- are paged _immediately_.

The sun is starting to peek in through the blinds by the time they let him rest. Alana’s the only one still with him.

“Margo’s going to be so pleased you’re alright.”

“Margo?” He frowns, “Your wife?”

She smiles at him beatifically. “You remembered! We weren’t sure how much you could hear us… while you were sleeping.”

“And Morgan?”

“We haven’t told anyone I’m pregnant. Not even you,” Alana’s hand drops to her stomach. “We don’t know the gender or anything. How did you know their name?”

“I- I must have dreamed it.” He hesitates but he has to know. “And Abigail? Did I-”

“Save my life?” A bright voice asks from the doorway.

He looks up to see her grinning at him in a way he hasn’t seen outside of her old family photos. Hannibal is behind her, lingering at her shoulder as if unsure.

“Giving her someone to focus on did provide a breakthrough in her therapy, though I think we can all agree to avoid such heroics in the future.” Alana agrees, amused. She stands and picks up her things. “I should be going, I’ll tell Margo and Jack the good news.”

She clasps him on one shoulder and leaves. Abigail immediately fills her place as Hannibal moves back to his original post.

“I got my GED while you were sleeping and I start school for pre-med next month.” Abigail tells him excitedly. “I’m going to become a neurologist and make sure nothing like this ever happens again.”

“I’m glad. You’ll be a great doctor,” He assures.

She grins. “I hope so. I’ve had quite a bit of experience with difficult patients lately.” She looks up at Hannibal slyly. “Settling your dogs in with me and Hannibal has been an adventure. Buster and Hannibal still don’t get along but he and Winston might take over the world. Did you know Hannibal can do the puppy dog face? How is that even fair?”

They both glance over to see Hannibal giving them said puppy dog face and burst into laughter.

“Details,” Will orders. “I need details.”

“I was released from Port Haven about a month into your coma. I went to live with Hannibal, since moving into your place without talking to you would be wrong. About two weeks later, Hannibal and I agree to take in your dogs. Alana and Margo had them, turned them into total fur-covered _divas_. Now, just getting them all into one car was an adventure but thank god we decided not to use the Jag because oh my god the mess-”

He laughs and relaxes as his daughter babbles. It’s so perfect. It’s so strange. He doesn’t even have to think about it as he settles his hand into Hannibal’s. Stranger still Hannibal doesn’t say anything, he just strokes his thumb over the back of his hand until Will falls right to sleep.


	15. Prompt: Ass, Fandom MCU

**Title** : Home is Where...  
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe  
**Fandom** : MCU, Inception, mention of Kingsman  
**Characters** : Tony Stark, Arthur/Eames  
**Prompt** : Ass  
**Word Count** : 806  
**Warning** : No beta >.> though I might have smoothed it out since I posted it originally  
**Author’s Note** : How many headcanons can I fit into less than a thousand words?  
**Summary** : Tony shows his ass and finds rather belatedly that he is finally among his people.

 

"So I hear you're Agent, son of Agent."

The skinny kid is an honest to god three-piece suit looks up at him and raises both eyebrows. "I prefer Arthur, son of Philip. Or perhaps Darling, Son on Coulson."

"Uh, uh, uh," A sassy british accent tuts at them. "Only I get to call you darling, Darling."

"Eames," Arthur sighs at the much bigger man.

"Come now, darling, I gave you all the required specificity in our wedding vows."

"Eames?" Tony asks incredulous, "Like the chair?"

"Lounge," He is primly corrected.

"Okay, Chair Bear, are we ready to go?"

"No,” Darling says, rolling his eyes. “We’re waiting for the rest of the group. Isn't that right Darcy, Daughter of Philip?"

Dr. Foster's feisty little friend Sparky looks up from where she is actively flirting with Romanov and smiles. "Of course, brother-mine. You are _always_ right.” She tilts her head to one side. “What did I just agree to?"

"That you’re waiting for us," Agent Coulson answers as he enters the room trailing several other agents and Captain Tight Pants and Sad Panda the Sidekick. The look he shoots Tony orders him to stop showing his ass.

It's _challenge accepted_ from there, really.

"You're all part of Taser Family?" Tony asks, amusedly outraged. "Really? And you didn't tell me?"

"Taser Family?" Chair Bear asks with a grin.

"Considering how _our_ first meeting it is arguably fitting," Son of Suit mutters.

"And ours," Sparky adds. "I don't think dad's tased you though."

"Oh he has," Chair Bear grins, obviously charmed.

" _What_ are we actually doing here?" Rogers asks sharply.

"Eames and I are here to tear through SHIELD's Sub Security Team to prove that we should be the ones teaching high-level assets the ins and outs of dream sharing and security."

"And I'm here because I married a BARF to PASIV so we can watch their dreams in real time and I don't let people play with my toys without me."

"Barf? Passive? What's sub security?"

"Subconscious Security. Without it extractors -like Arthur and I- can use PASIV to slip into your dreams and steal all your secrets." Eames explains. "A good team can take everything you know and leave you not even knowing anything happened other than a _really_ good nap."

Steve looks momentarily horrified, "Who came up with something like this?"

"The United States Government." Eames answers flatly. He rolls his eyes and continues after Arthur clears his throat pointedly. "Well, the United States Government _weaponized_ it. It was originally designed by a multi-national team as a therapeutic technique to help patients recover from the mental effects of V-Day."

Steve nods, "I've read about V-Day."

"Be glad you weren't awake yet," Someone towards the back mutters darkly and Tony winces.

Richmond Valentine had fucked over a lot of people that day, in a lot of ways, without the courtesy of lube or the reach around. Including, perhaps _especially_ SHIELD, as the then-Director Alexander Pierce and several of his most trusted agents all lost their heads during the event and in the end revealed just how deeply Hydra has infected the organization. That’s how he got recruited to the agency. And how Capsicle and Panda wound up found and rescued all those years ago.

Thankfully he hadn't let his competition's phones or SIM cards near any of his properties or business over what many thought to be misplaced, probably drunken, jealousy. It hadn’t been and he'd gotten to sleep through V-Day too.

"How does PASIV work?" Steve asks, resolutely ignoring the Mutterer.

"PASIV in conjunction with a chemical called Somnacin allows everyone connected to the machine to share a single dream. The dream is held and the map the dream happens on is controlled by the Dreamer. Everything populating that map -the data and people or _projections_ \- are created by the Subject. Additional personnel can enter the dream and interact with the environment and its populous for any number of purposes, including therapy as originally intended or theft which you’ve already been told Eames and I excel at."

"Now, dreams happen much faster than reality," Eames takes up the thread. "So we'll go down with SHIELD's Dream Team several times, two and a half minutes real time a pop, and go through several different scenarios Agent Coulson has selected but not yet shared with any of us. For us in the dream these will be half-hour events. Hopefully not long enough to traumatize the poor little dears."

Several SHIELD dreamers scoff and Tony can't help but grin. "BARF will give us super fast forward videos of the dreams the first time. Just enough to confirm for everyone the true conclusion, then we'll have an old-fashioned movie night and watch them on regular play."

Sparky smirks at him and rests on arm on his shoulder. "Will there be popcorn?"


	16. Prompt: Gun, Fandom: NCIS

**Title** : Car-ma  
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe  
**Fandom** : NCIS  
**Characters** : Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Timothy McGee, Ziva David  
**Prompt** : Gun  
**Word Count** : 1,107  
**Warning** : No beta, Dead Air Fix-it, McGee bashing, Ziva Bashing,  
**Author’s Note** : Yeah, I added to it since it went up on the Workshop.  
**Summary** : McGee learns to fear retributive justice.

 

Tim tenses when the door behind him opens. He tenses even more when Gibbs slides through the door and plants himself on the seat directly behind him.

"So," Boss slams his door, making Tim jump. "Where's Tony?"

Tim's hand twitches towards the volume control before he can stop himself and then closes his eyes, furious at the self-incrimination of it. "Uh, Tony? Boss?" He asks.

"Tony, you know Tony. Anthony DiNozzo, my SFA." Gibbs raises a single eyebrow. "The man you're supposed to be out here backing up."

Ziva starts to turn to Gibbs.

"No, don't turn around. I don't want to see your face right now." He also doesn't want them to see the zat gun he's holding over his lap but that's neither here nor there. "So. My SFA. Out here, facing down _domestic terrorists_ and god knows what else all alone because you can't be bothered to do your job. What's that in your lap? Pick it up and show it to me."

Ziva holds up her book.

" _Man in the Iron Mask_ ," He identifies, all over furious. "And you, McGee? Popular Mechanics. That's what's more important to you than my SFA's life. Popular Mechanics is more important to you than Tony’s life."

"Life?" McGee squeaks. He swallows audibly and starts to shake like Gibbs hasn’t seen him do hasn't since before Ari. "Boss, is he okay? What happened?"

"What happened was my SFA ran alone into something dangerous that is so far above your paygrade you can’t even know it exists. He ordered you to leave to _protect you._ When you didn't respond appropriately to his orders to clear out, we hacked your feed to find out what happened to you and where you were. Come to find out you didn't listen to him for even half an hour. You violated procedure, you abandoned your partner in the field, and now an unknown number of sailors will die because there is still a terrorist cell on the loose and we are no closer to catching them than before you came out here. All because you couldn't be bothered to do your job.

"Worst of all, what Tony stumbled into is so Top Secret -no, David, you don't get to turn that on _now-_ I can't even properly punish you for it because of the number of people we would have read in to do so.

"But -and this is the part that _really_ sucks for you- against orders, you created recordings of something so stupidly Top Secret that you are both about to be labeled threats to national security.” Gibbs smirks and takes a casual sip of his coffee. "What's that going to do to your dad, McGee? Admiral John Joseph McGee. Do you think his career will survive being the father of a threat to national security? Will it survive having raised a traitor? What about his reputation? His clearance, his command, his retirement. No way he'll make ‘ _CNET in five years_ ’ after that."

Tim shakes harder, muttering "oh, god," under his breath over and over.

Gibbs waits for McGee to make it three rounds… and then three more before he offers, "Or."

"Or? God, Gibbs. Boss. Please, or. I'll take or."

"Or, you can have a mysterious car crash from which your body will never be recovered. We will take you so far away that you can't possibly meet anyone you knew in this life even if you tried and you'll be useful. In exchange you'll get a new identity, a good paying job, and your father will never know what a terrible human being he raised."

"Okay," McGee nods quickly, swallowing several times. "Okay, I'll do it."

"What about me, Gibbs?" Ziva asks silkily, "Will I be _useful_?"

Gibbs snorts. "No, compared to these people you are a barely trained thug and that's exactly how they view you. Except, of course, for the group that _really_ likes Tony and views you as an immediate threat to his physical person. They've asked me to kill you. I've been promised your body will never be found." Because it won't exist thanks to the zat gun but, regardless. "The kindest option I have for you is memory loss. It'll be permanent, everything from around the time you murdered your brother on will be irrecoverable. We'll blame it on the head injury you'll sustain during McGee's wreck. Of course you'll still be labeled a threat to national security for the other things you’ve done and never be allowed back in the states but if you want we can fudge your id and hide you in an institution. In, say, Germany?"

"No." She says firmly. "You cannot do this to me. Lose my memories? Lose my life here? I have done nothing to deserve this."

"You've done _everything_ to deserve this,” He growls. “Espionage, treason now that you're an American citizen, and today dereliction of duty. Not only of your own free will and you've lead McGee by the nose into too, that's conspiracy. You could face a tribunal and be killed for this and it would all be completely legal."

"No," she reaches for the door handle and he zats her. She falls forward into the still closed door.

"Prison it is." He hits the button and the shiny little penis folds back down.

McGee reaches out to pull her upright. "Boss? Is she?"

"Knocked out." He assures his former team member. "She'll be fine in a few hours. Start the car, McGee. Head for the highway." He pulls on the ear bud he was given and activates it. " _Daedalus_ , this is Bastard One. Headed to Rendezvous Bravo now with two prisoners."

"Roger that, Bastard One is en route to Rendezvous Bravo.” The nervous little lieutenant comes in loud and clear. “Bastard Two left a request for a status update, sir."

"Tell him he called it. Status on Bastard Two?"

"Bastard Two is on station and proceeding with," She hesitates. "A _dramatic_ entry, Bastard One."

That's his boy, Gibbs grins. "Ten minutes to rendezvous,” And he turns off the device.

“Take a left onto the highway, McGee.

“And, for the sake of clarity, I was on board with the plan to put you in a hole. Making you a Missing Persons that would never be solved.” Gibbs breathes carefully and looks out the window. “Your actions today could have forced me to bury a second child and I’m never going to forget that. Never going to forgive it either. But Tony spoke up for you. Again. Like he always does. Remember to thank Tony for saving your life the next time you see him.”

 

~~~~~~

 

CNET = Chief of Naval Education and Training


	17. Prompt: Lint, Fandom: SG-1

**Title** : Perversely Pleased  
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe  
**Fandom** : Stargate SG-1  
**Characters** : Jack O’Neill, Teal’c, Daniel Jackson  
**Prompt** : Lint  
**Word Count** : 627  
**Warning** : No beta, Sentinel and Guides are Known, Canon Level Violence  
**Author’s Note** : On the radio show they talked about Awakening by TheTenthMuse where the author brings up the idea that the Guide should be older than the Sentinel for various reasons. The idea makes so much sense I just had to poke at it.  
**Summary** : A stick up goes poorly, but not for Jack.

 

"Hands in the air! Nobody move!"

Jack manfully bites back the urge to complain about contradictory orders as he raises his hands in the air but doesn’t otherwise move. T simply raises an eyebrow from where he _was_ crouching to inspect the legs on the desk Jack was thinking about buying and complies also without otherwise moving.

Three perps, wild eyed and shaking, clutching the kind of hardware that _really_ shouldn't be available outside a military base move around the room. They demand wallets and watches. They are _not_ organized, show no signs of real training and he and T could totally take them, but.

But they are in a civilian filled furniture shop.

It's crowded with both people and _junk_ and civilians are stupid around violence. If they do anything someone might get hurt.

One of the stupid tweekers makes his way over to them and finally spots T still holding the same crouch. Jack's thighs burn in sympathy.

"Whoa!" The guy jerks back, finger dropping on the trigger.

Fesr spikes in Jack’s belly. Not for himself. He's been held at gunpoint probably a hundred times _on Earth_ itself. The fear is for Teal'c. You'd have to be brain dead not to see his buddy for the threat he really, truly is and this guy is high as a kite and already displaying a tendency to violence.

"Your friend instructed us not to move," T reminds the little asshole calmly.

The deep, steady power of his voice seems to ground the guy a bit and he nods, "Okay, yeah. Stand up."

Teal'c obeys, slowly so as not to startle the guy. By the time he stops unfolding the guy's eyes are saucers again and Jack's fear redoubles. More than that it crashes on his mind like a wave on the shore leaving his mind full and warm and liquid.

He knows what's going on, of course. He's had all the latent guide training classes there are. First in boot, then college, then OTS, and a few years ago when Sandburg revamped the process. He _knows_ , okay?

It's just not supposed to be happening.

He's _way_ too old for this, years past the oldest recorded onlining, two weeks out from the promotion to O-7 and command of the Mountain. Why is this happening now?

The answer, of course, reaches up and snaps the little tweaker's neck with all the casual power of a man flicking lint off his sleeve. Then he turns and breaks the ring leader's nose with the palm of his hand and killing him instantly before he to snarl at the group's Speaker.

The asshole, finally showing some survival instinct, throws down his gun as he flees the premises.

The Sentinel snarls and moves to give chase but Jack can't let that happen.

"No, Danny, stay here." Wild blue eyes land on him and he holds the sentinel's gaze without flinching. "You need to stay here, Danny. You need to protect your Guide."

Danny moves closer to him, his head tilting this way and that like a bird of prey. "Guide."

The question in him is so faint that Jack only really gets it from their tentative empathic connection.

"Your guide," Jack confirms. "Me. If you want me."

Danny snarls at him, infuriated by his doubt. "You. Guide."

"Okay." Jack opens his arms, asking for a hug. "You going to claim me?"

Danny stumbles forward and all but throws himself into Jack's arms. He's trembling and heat is just pouring off him, there is a desperate ache in his voice when he says, "Guide."

Conversely, or perhaps _per_ versely, that one word, that one tone, eases all Jack's doubts and stops his fears. He smiles and closes his eyes, dizzyingly pleased as he says, "Sentinel."


	18. Prompt: Original Female Character, Fandom: Star Trek/Harry Potter

**Title** : Expect (the Unexpected)  
**Author** : Saydria Wolfe  
**Fandom** : Harry Potter, Star Trek  
**Characters** : Sirius Black/OFC, OCs  
**Prompt** : Original Female Character  
**Word Count** : 1649  
**Warning** : No beta  
**Author’s Note** : 1.) I wanted to bring together the two fandoms with the least in common I could think of. 2.) Originally T’Mal was a dude but I already did OMC so I changed it, I think it made things more interesting. 3.) There was a tumblr post that theorized Regulus = Crookshanks. I can’t find it any more but that is where the animagus form I mention for him is from. 4.) This is going to be expanded. I don’t know when I’ll be finished with it and I’m not going to estimate but I’ve changed this work into part of a series, I will post it as a separate part of the series when it is done.  
**Summary** : “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” - Clarke’s Third Law

 

 

"Good one, James!" Sirius cheers as he returns spellfire.

Then he stops.

That's... not right. He turns to look at _Harry_ , his godson, and opens his mouth to apologize but something hits him in the chest. Red light, a stunner. He staggers backwards. He catches a view of his cousin Bella as he falls. For a moment she looks exactly how she did when he tricked her into swallowing a live goldfish at Cissa's seventh birthday party. He laughs and-

~*~

T'Mal does not huff. She does not shift or sigh to show her displeasure either no matter how much she wants to. All of these, any of these, would be a disgraceful break in discipline for a Vulcan and no member of the House of Surak is ever disgraceful. If she did such a thing her grandfather would " _have her fool hide_ ," as I’m-not-your-Uncle-dammit Bones would say.

They do not break discipline even if they are stuck on a research team with _idiots_.

Wormholes. Are. Circles. They naturally form in rounds. It is logical that the first attempts to form one artificially should be done along those same lines, saving unnatural shapes for once the experiment has proven itself, but no. The end goal is point to point travel for Vulcanoid beings and therefore their experimental device has been fashioned in a rectangle door-like shape to facilitate this end.

The additional bonus is that it saves space while they conduct the experiment on a space station _but still_.

Wormholes are round.

Just because you want to use it as a door does not _make it_ a door or otherwise door shaped.

"Initiating activation sequence in 3," The lead researcher on thier project Stilvass starts methodically hitting switches. "2, 1. Engaging."

It works.

In a way.

The light is nothing like she expected, nothing like they hypothesized. It looks, well. It looks like a curtain. Ragged and dancing in the wind. It flashes over once and a physical body is falling out. A vaguely vulcanoid body or, she thinks wildly, a _human_ body.

She rushes forward, the rash emotional voice of her Dad speaking louder to her in her head that the rational, logical voice of her Papa. She breaks the isolation zone just in time to catch him before he hits the floor. Definitely a _him_. They go down together. His body is so cool, she frowns. A function of the mode of travel or is he? She touches his wrist as lightly as she can and still take his pulse.

He's alive.

Under his skin a feeling draws her, calls to her. An overpowering feeling of safety but also his need and her welcome. A feeling of home. Before she can think twice, she touches a meld point on his face. The man convulses. His empty hand flails up and hits her, making contact with a meld point more through accident than design.

Lightning flashes over her mind, over her skin and her heart, and she _knows_ a bond has formed.

"What?" She glances down at the human male. His eyes are blue. Not the rich ocean blue of her dad. No, her bondmate’s eyes are a blue that is almost white. Or silver, mostly like the eyes of Shadow the Husky dog dad had insisted they get when they finally settled down as a family on Earth.

"Oh," Her new bondmate _Sirius_ finishes smartly before he gives her a vague smile and passes out.

~*~

T'Mal anxiously runs her hands over the strange, small stick her bonded was clutching when he passed out. It is curious. The feedback she gets from the stick is amused, powerful, and safe. An echo of the mind of her new bonded. Even just touching this _wand_ is the most safety she’s known since she and her elder brother knelt on the Ceremonial Sands of New Vulcan and accepted the parental telepathic bonds from both of her adopted fathers. A similar but distinctly more intimate feeling.

Which is as it should be, really.

"Are you listening, T'Mal?"

She turns away from the viewport and raises a single eyebrow at the Healer. Even for a Vulcan T’Sir is a _raging bitch_ , to borrow Aunt 'Yota's prefered vernacular. "You are 95% certain my bondmate is human, however large sections of his brain -sections that are dormant in your records of standard Terrans- are active in him. He is also missing the additional organs of humans that adapted over the course of the Eugenics War and Earth's World War III.

"Combine that with his outdated mode of dress and materials therein the logical conclusion is that he is a human from Earth’s past."

Healer T'Sir raises a single eyebrow but finally shuts up.

"It is logical," Stilvass agrees, willfully or perhaps _logically_ ignoring the emotional tone of their exchange. "Wormholes theoretically bridge time _and_ space. We failed to fully account for this in our theoretical proofs."

T'Mar nods her agreement. Time must be a much larger variable than they had previously considered it.

"I would like to know how a theoretically historical Terran had access to advanced wormhole technology." T'Sir tells their head scientist with a frown. "And why or how he used it."

T'Mal is absolutely certain whatever happened was not actually her bonded's choice but she can't explain this feeling. Well, she could but she it does not behoove her to do so, so she remains silent on the matter.

"For now we need to ascertain whether it would be safe to return him to Earth," She says instead. "It would be best for his mental health to be among his own kind and seen by their own healers. My fathers will also require to meet him."

Both Vulcans incline their heads in agreement and an alarm goes off. Right next door.

Stilvass and T'Mal follow T'Sir out of the observation room and into the treatment room. The bed her bonded was just resting in is empty and an Andorian and a Betazoid orderly are facing off against something in the corner. Something that's _growling_.

She pushes between the two males and comes chest to snout with the biggest damn dog she's ever seen.

A dog that is the holder of her telepathic mate bond.

Teeth as long as her hand are bared as the beast growls again in warning but it - _he-_ immediately stops growling at the sight of her.

Yellow eyes blink in confusion and his head tilts to one side in question.

She reaches out telepathically and touches his mind to hopefully communicate but, failing that, to understand. Understanding is what finds her.

She gets the image of an older, slightly terrifying woman -a teacher, _obviously_ a teacher- in a tall and pointed black hat turning into a silver and black cat. The teacher turns back into a human, and then back into a cat. She gets the image of a boy that looks like her bondmate but with Betazoid black eyes grinning and turning into a giant orange cat with a smooshed face. She gets the image of a stag standing under the light of a setting moon. The stag silently changes into a boy wearing glasses. The boy laughs and holds out his fist. "That was brilliant, Pads!"

"Pads?" She asks cautiously as she pulls back from his mind.

The dog sits with a clumsy thunk. Her vision blurs and her bondmate is human once more, sitting in the exact position of the dog with his legs straight out before him, his hands resting palm down on the floor between them.

"You are T'Mal of the House of Surak, Daughter of James and Spock."

It's not a question, she blinks. "How?"

Silently, he pulls his right sleeve all the way up to his elbow and there, in High Vulcan script, complete with central staff going from the base of his palm to the bend of his elbow are the whirls and bends of her full name.

Where to even begin? "You can read that?"

He frowns down at his arm and after 3.5 seconds nods. "Book of Souls magic, I guess."

"What is the Book of Souls?"

"Do you mean other than the book Merlin enchanted so that all who came after him might have the chance to find their One True Love?" He looks at her, sounding confused.

She glances at the other four beings still in the room. They are all looking at her bondmate with various shades of avarice and hope so she asks. "Does it still exist?"

"It has to," He says plainly but then he stops to consider. "I'm certain it definitely had to exist whenever you first came to Earth, otherwise I never would have received your name when I did. I'm pretty sure it will have to be in existence at least until we bond. From what I remember, the enchantment determines the name it provides to the requester based on both the best compatibility and the person you are most likely to meet and form a full bond with at any anytime during it's existence."

"To clarify: your conclusion is that it had to still exist until we bonded otherwise it never would have been able to predict our bonding."

"Almost. It has to still exist because we are not bonded."

"Yes, we are," She corrects.

He shakes his head. "I feel this," he taps his forehead. "But this is not how my people bond, I don't think it counts."

"Or perhaps it simply will not register with this _Book_ until you reach Earth?" The Andorian questions. "Earlier in your arguement, her arrival on Earth seemed significant."

"Logically, he was simply acknowledging that she is not human and therefore not native to Earth," Stilvass counters.

" _Uh_ ," T'Mal and the rest of them all turn back to her bondmate, to _Sirius_ , to see him looking decidedly pale. "We're not on Earth?"


End file.
